Of Warmth and Desire
by onlyacoffee
Summary: Courfeyrac feels Feuilly's gaze on him and he looks away, not embarrassed, just - flustered. And definitely surprised. He'd spent most of the past year looking at Feuilly and he hadn't known. Still, this changes nothing - or does it? (Of course it doesn't, as Feuilly is quick to remind him - and Courfeyrac couldn't be happier to let him.) [Courfeyrac/genderqueer!Feuilly]


This was written for a prompt on Making Hugo Spin: _"Courfeyrac is surprised to find out that Feuilly is physically female and a little disappointed because, well, he was really hoping to get fucked. Feuilly says that's no problem at all - which of his/her dildos would he prefer they use? Canon era, modern AU, space AU... anything at all would make me ecstatic for this. Feuilly can be trans* or presenting as male/ambiguous for other reasons - historical context, personal style, witness protection programme (okay, probably not that last one, though if you can make it work go for it)."_

* * *

"Uh-"

Courfeyrac feels Feuilly's gaze on him and he looks away, not embarrassed, just - flustered. And definitely surprised. He hadn't known. He'd spent most of the past year looking at Feuilly - in the few classes they shared, when they were simply hanging out - at the way he walked, listening to his voice as it rose during meetings, staring at his lips as he wondered how they would feel on his body, and he hadn't known.

He sees it, now, he supposes, in Feuilly's hips and his narrow shoulders, in his tiny hands and the smooth curve of his jaw.

It does absolutely nothing to diminish the attraction he feels towards the other man.

"Why didn't you say anything before?" he winces at how it sounds, but Feuilly only smiles, lips closed, a small smile that he means as reassuring as ever although it is strained, and runs a hand through his hair; the short light brown strands fall gently on his forehead and Courfeyac swallows, thinking of how that hair feels agaisnt his fingers.

"It's nothing to do with trust, you know. It's just never come up?" Feuilly says. He tries to sound nonchalant about it, but Courfeyrac can hear the light tremor in his voice. "For what it's worth now, I meant to tell you, you know, been thinking of a way. But," he shrugs and lets out a small, dry laugh. "it never seemed urgent when we were together, I guess, so... that's good? I knew you wouldn't think differently of me. I'm sorry."

His hand drops in his lap, and he stares his fingers for a moment instead of searching for Courfeyrac's eyes; Courfeyrac reaches to take that beloved hand in his own.

"Don't apologize," he says, kissing the callused palm. "Not about this, never about this. Yeah, it's good, I'm just surprised. I mean... who else knows?"

"Prouvaire does," Feuilly smiles again, thoughtfully this time. "Though I didn't have to tell them - they guessed. Instinct, maybe."

Courfeyrac snorts. Of course this is the kind of thing Prouvaire would know. This is the kind of thing they always know, somehow, and Prouvaire and Feuilly have always been close.

"And I told Enjolras and Combeferre," Feuilly continues, throwing Courfeyrac a somewhat apologetic look. "I thought they might have brought it up."

"It wasn't theirs to tell."

"They probably thought I'd have told you before, since we started dating and all."

"Yeah, well."

"I really am sorry," Feuilly pauses. He doesn't look very sorry, Courfeyrac thinks - and he is glad, because Feuilly has nothing to feel sorry for at all and Courfeyrac just really, really wants to kiss him. He refrains, though, because they still need to talk.

"Does - does it make things awkward? I mean, for us?" Feuilly asks.

"What?" Courfeyrac shakes his head, curls flying into his eyes. "God, no. Of course not." Deciding the timing is right, he leans forwards and kisses Feuilly softly. "It doesn't change anything," he murmurs against his lips.

Feuilly draws back a little to look at Courfeyrac and grins in a way that is just so very attractive - Courfeyrac kisses him again, on the corner of the mouth this time, right where that little dimple creases his cheek.

"Really, nothing?"

"Well, maybe a little. But I still want to touch you," Courfeyrac feels tension he hadn't even realised was there in the first place leave Feuilly's shoulders. "if you'll let me. I really really like you. And I want you."

"Ah. Good."

It really _is,_ Courfeyrac knows, of course it is; but as it happens too often, his mouth starts running too quickly for him to stop it.

"I just - I guess I can live with - with never getting fucked by you."

Damn it, did he just blurt it out like that? _Fuck,_ it's Courfeyrac's own problem, and he's pretty sure he wants to be with Feuilly whether he has a cock or not, really, it's unfair of him to lay something like that on Feuilly, but he's just totally surprised. If Courfeyrac were the blushing kind of guy, his face would have turned beet red from embarrassement - as it is he only bites his lower lip and looks up at Feuilly from under his lashes.

"Sorry, I mean -"

"Shh," Feuilly immediately puts his fingers over Courfeyrac's lips and raises an eyebrow. "Really, though? That's what's bothering you right now?"

"I - no, not bothering, just - "

"It is bothering you, though," Feuilly's eyes are curious and dark, but his cheeks have taken a lovely pinkish colour and Courfeyrac curses him for being so cute. "Though it shouldn't. You haven't even gotten me in your bed yet."

"To be honest, I was hoping on it, like, soon."

"And on me fucking you?"

Courfeyrac hadn't realised before now how high up on his thigh Feuilly's hand was. He swallows.

"I guess, yeah?"

Feuilly leans against him, pression into Courfeyrac's chest, his body warm and solid and Courfeyrac finds himself melting a little.

"That," Feuilly chuckles quietly in Courfeyrac's ear, "can certainly be arranged."

Courfeyrac kisses his cheek. "I'd like that, very much."

Still smiling shyly, Feuilly rests his head on Courfeyrac's shoulder and takes a deep breath. Courfeyrac lifts a hand, tangling his fingers in the strands of Feuilly's hair. It's cool, and soft - so very soft.

"Come home with me, then?" Feuilly asks, voice muffled in the fabric of Courfeyrac's sweater. "It'd be - simpler."

"Tonight?"

"If you want to."

"I really want to," Courfeyrac touches his lips the top of Feuilly's head. "I've wanted to for a long time, you know. Still do."

"Yeah, I..." Feuilly rubs his eyes, searching for words. Maybe there's none - he'll try anyway. "It's a lot to, ah -"

"Of course," Courfeyrac nods. He has an idea, and that's good enough. "I don't want to push you."

"You're not. Would you like to have dinner with me before?"

"Absolutely."

They go to Feuilly's place for dinner; they order thai food, because pad thai chicken is Feuilly's favourite and neither of them feels like cooking. They use real plates, though, and open a bottle of red wine. They don't bring the _fucking_ part of their plans up again. It lingers quietly in the air: excitement, anticipation, and more than a hint of nervosity.

Courfeyrac wraps his arms around Feuilly's waist and refuses to move as Feuilly insist on washing the dishes; he drops little kisses at the back of his neck and Feuilly's face flushes, like it always seems to do when Courfeyrac is touching him. Then Feuilly quickly dries his hand on the dishtowel before whirling around and grabbing Courfeyrac in an embrace, locking their lips with such force that it makes Courfeyrac gasp. His hands travel down to grab the other's ass, and he squeezes.

Moments later they're stumbling into the bedroom, still locked in each other's arms; Courfeyrac quickly gets rid of his shirt and falls back on the bed, while Feuilly hovers above him, uncertain. Courfeyrac reaches up to scatter feather-light kisses on the freckles all over his shoulder, his neck, his nose.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" Feuilly asks, and with the light of the setting sun filtering through the half-closed blinds, the color of his eyes is almost amber. Courfeyrac smiles but doesn't push - he's waited for this, he can be patient.

"I told you, I am," he says. "I'm ready, I've not changed my mind. Have you?"

Feuilly shakes his head, and lets Courfeyrac pull on the belt loops and unzip his jeans; he takes them off himself, while Courfeyrac does a quick work of getting rid of his own clothing. He lies naked on the bed; Feuilly is still wearing his boxers and a binder and he reaches down, kissing Courfeyrac slowly, deeply.

"God, you're hot," he murmurs, and Courfeyrac chuckles.

"You're not bad yourself, gotta say. I want you."

Feuilly moans, deeply.

"And you'll have me."

He draws back and stands again. Courfeyrac touches himself lazily - as though he wasn't already painfully hard - as he watches Feuilly take off his boxers (he's keeping the binder on, though - maybe, next time, if things go well tonight, he'll take it off), grab a harness from a box in his drawer and strap it to his hips.

"Right," Feuilly has that pinkish look of shyness on his face again as he adjusts the angle and carefully slips a condom over the cock - and Courfeyrac's completely, irresisitbly turned on.

"You're gorgeous," he says.

Feuilly looks away with a sheepish smile.

"I'm not much, compared to you."

Courfeyrac reaches and holds Feuilly's hips, his fingers spreading, pulling the other man towards him - Feuilly leans into his touch and closes his eyes.

"Oh, but you are! Absolutely stunning, handsome, incredible," Courfeyrac bends a little to drop soft kisses on Feuilly's waist, on his stomach, on his hipbone, enjoying the warmth of the other's skin rising with each compliment.

"Shut up," Feuilly groans in the back of his throat, but there's laughter in his voice as he places a hand on Courfeyrac's head, gripping the dark curls between surpringly strong fingers. "And kneel."

Courfeyrac laughs, or whimpers, he can't quite tell himself - not like it matters anyway because within minutes Feuilly's hand on the small of his back has reached down further and he can feel his cool fingers lathered with lube working against his opening, pulling and stretching; Courfeyrac clings at the pillow underneath him and bites his lips. Feuilly leans on him, his weight warm and soft and safe, and breathes in his ear.

"You can makes noise, you know," he whispers. "I'd like that."

"God," Courfeyrac shouts hoarsely. "Yes, yes I will - if you just - "

Feuilly cuts him off with a hum - it shakes his ribcage against Courfeyrac's back and Courfeyrac shivers at the contact. There's still the cloth of Feuilly's binder keeping their skin from touching completely, but he's warm and Courfeyrac feels each movement of his chest as he breathes in and out.

"I think you're ready," Feuilly is still nervous - Courfeyrac can hear him running his tongue over his dry lips. "Do you feel ready?"

"God, yes," Courfeyrac exhales. "Oh god, love, I'm such a lucky bastard - "

His incoherent mumbling fades into loud moans as Feuilly slowly pushes inside him, steady hands holding his hips and it's everything Courfeyrac wanted and even more as Feuilly goes as deep as he can inside Courfeyrac. He wants to turn and look into Feuilly's eyes, see the freckles on his pale face drowned under the sheen of sweat, can imagine him biting his lower lip, his eyes narrowing, the pupil wide with pleasure, leaving only a small circle of the light hazel irises Courfeyrac loves so much - but he's pushed into the mattress by another thrust and he swears loudly.

Feuilly stills. He's panting and he reaches to touch Courfeyrac's cheek.

"Are you okay? Am I hurting you?"

Courfeyrac finally looks back and, oh. He barely manages to keep himself from groaning again. Feuilly's hair is plastered to his forehead, darkened at the roots by sweat. His face is flushed, his lips parted slightly; his shoulders are trembling and he looks absolutely gorgeous.

"You're not - hurting me," Courfeyrac grins, and Feuilly smiles back, nodding. Still holding Courfeyrac's gaze he pushes again, deliberately slowly. This time, though, he reaches around to grasp Courfeyrac's almost painfully hard erection, talented fingers running up and down its lenght, up and down, up and down, until the sensations blend together and Courfeyrac cannot hold it in anymore and he comes in a blinding white flash. Above him, Feuilly shakes with his own orgasm, waves of pleasure running from his ears to his toes as he nearly collapses on top of Courfeyrac.

Courfeyrac buries his face on the soft fabric of the pillow, moaning once more when Feuilly roll off him.

A moment later, he turns his head and cracks an eye open; Feuilly is lying on his back, breathing hard still. He's smiling, and Courfeyrac pushes himself up to kiss him.

"Thank you," he whispers, and Feuilly hides his face in the crook of Courfeyrac's neck, breathing in the sweaty scent of sex.

"And thank _you,"_ he replies, voice soft and sleepy.

Courfeyrac hums and lets his hand travel down until it rests on Feuilly's hip ; he unclaps the worn leather harness and set it on the bedside table.

"I should get you a new one," Courfeyrac yawns, sleepily running his fingers in Feuilly's hair. "A pretty one, with a colour that would go with your skin and details to bring out your eyes."

Feuilly chuckles, the sound vibrating on Courfeyrac's rapidly cooling skin.

"Do you think it's a necessary investement, then?"

"I certainly do," Courfeyrac kisses Feuilly's cheekbone, then his ear, then his neck. "You're talented, gorgeous. It'd be a shame not to, say, put this talent to good use."

"Then we will," Feuilly doesn't move, exhausted but teasing, "if you'll want me."

"How could I not," Courfeyrac replies, and this time Feuilly reaches up to kiss his lips. They fall asleep snuggled close against each other.


End file.
